My Third eye has astigmatism
My soul wears prosthetic limbs
I woke up within the world of dreams, corporeal in the mists of immateriality. Around me was the shadow world — the half-world that reflected against reality, and only I shone real.
In this ghostish realm, this half-formed reality, my sense of vision grew a third, for I looked around and saw that all others held a third eye but only mine was open.
My vision had expanded a third, a blurry third — like a 240p third of a video in HD. It turned out my soul had astigmatism. As if my stigma to the blind, the fault I subconsciously applied to those whose only fault was not to see as well as I.
Then I looked down to limbs, prosthetic limbs my soul wore as if my soul itself had pieced together from what it thought I should be rather than what I was, and those pieces did not fit. Rather than face its own failure it borrowed and fabricated, tooled and manufactured a prosthetic addition where there should be naught but emptiness.
